Of Migraines and Family
by Jamie Reagan's Girl
Summary: Randy's got a migraine and it's up to G.G. to take care of him.


The ache behind Randy's eyes hits him somewhere in the middle of G.G.'s nightly dinner rant. The telltale signs have been there all day- the tension radiating from his skull down into his neck and shoulders, his unsettled stomach, the nagging exhaustion.

He's been picking at his plate for the last half hour half-listening as G.G. goes on about something or other one of the church ladies said. Normally, this is one of his favorite parts of the day. He loves these one-on-one moments with his grandmother. He loves talking to her and sharing what happened that day over dinner, playing the songs she used to sing with his grandfather, even watching old movies and recordings of her favorite soap operas on the couch.

So, despite how awful he feels, he continues to sit with her. Occasionally, he nods his head or makes a small noise in response, but, mostly, he just continues to move his food around.

Randy doesn't even realize G.G. has stopped talking until she rests her hand on top of his.

"Randy?" she asks softly. "Are you alright, sweetheart? You've barely touched your dinner."

He stops playing with his green beans and tries to smile.

"I'm fine. I'm just not very hungry tonight."

G.G gives him the look.

"Honey, we both well know that the day you turn down my cooking is the day the devil starts sporting a parka. Plus, you've barely said two words all night and, Lord knows, quiet has never been your default setting. So, do you want to try that again?"

Randy knows he has two choices: fess up now or try to play it off, knowing G.G. will prod him until he eventually fesses up later. He decides to with the former, knowing lying to G.G. in any capacity will get him nowhere fast.

With a sigh, he sets down his fork and rubs his eyes.

"My head's kind of bothering me a little," he says quietly. "Really, it's not a big deal, but do you mind if I turn in early? I think I'm just wiped out from choir practice earlier."

G.G. squeezes his hand. "Of course, you can. Why don't you head on up? I'll take care of everything down here."

"Are you sure, because I can…."

"Randy," G.G says in tone that brooks no argument. "I've got this. Go to bed."

Randy stands up and kisses her on the cheek. "Thanks G.G. I'll see you in the morning."

One hot shower and two Tylenols later, Randy curls up under the covers, his head really beginning to pound now. He silently sends up some desperate prayers that he can just sleep this off and that he'll be fine in the morning.

"Rise and shine, Randy. Day's a wasting."

G.G.'s cheery voice startles him out of his restless slumber, sending a sledgehammer to his brain. God, his head hurts. The pain permeates through his entire skull and pounds behind his eyes. Even his shoulders and neck hurt. He wants to burrow deeper into the pillows or pull the covers over his head, but he's afraid moving will only make things worse.

Randy cracks his eyes open just as G.G. throws open the curtains. The bright morning sun pushes the pain to new heights, and he's slammed with a wave of nausea. Throwing back the covers, he bolts to his bathroom, and, before he knows it, he's one his knees in front of the toilet. Each heave drives the spike deeper into his brain and forces tears from his eyes.

There's a cool cloth on the back of neck and a warm hand rubbing his back until he finishes. He wipes his mouth with some toilet paper and rinses with a cup of cool water before shakily flushing the toilet, cringing at the noise it makes.

He looks up at G.G. and softly murmurs, "Sorry."

"Oh honey, there's nothing to be sorry for," G.G. soothes.

She takes the cloth from his neck and gently wipes the tears and sweat from his face. Randy leans into her touch. He would feel pathetic if he didn't feel so damn miserable or so grateful that she left the lights off.

After a few minutes more, G.G. asks, "Do you think you can make it back to bed?"

Randy gives a slight nod, and she helps him to his feet. The room spins and he grabs blindly for something to grab onto. G.G's grip is surprisingly strong as she helps him steady himself.

"Easy does it. We're going to go one step at a time." Her voice is strong and he can't do anything else but trust her. "Just lean on me."

Randy lets her lead him back to the his room and tuck him back into bed much like she used to do when he was little.

He whimpers when she leaves the room. Her tender warmth is the only thing that's keeping the pain remotely bearable.

G.G. returns a few minutes later. She sits next to him on the bed. She helps him sit up and hands him a couple of pills.

"Here take these. They're Excedrin. They'll help I promise." She hands him a glass of water as he swallows the pills. "Small sips, sweetheart. There's a trashcan next to the bed, but I really doubt you want to go for round two."

Randy hands her the glass and lies back down.

"The curtains are closed," he whispers softly, noticing the dark room for the first time.

G.G lets out a little laugh. She lays a damp washcloth across his forehead and eyes.

"Shhh, try to rest now. Do you want me to stay 'til you fall a sleep?"

Randy sighs as she begins to run her fingers through his hair.

"Yes please."

G.G continues to stroke his hair. His eyes feel heavy as the meds start to kick in and he blissfully falls into a drug-induced sleep.

Randy's day passes in a haze of pain and exhaustion. Mostly, he just sleeps. G.G. rouses him every few hours to get him to drink some water or take another dose of painkillers. He's vaguely aware of her constant presence and he's comforted that he's going through this alone like so many times before.

By the time he's coherent enough to be aware of his surroundings, it's dark outside. He slowly sits up and takes stock of all his systems. He's stiff and tired, but the ache in his head is pretty much gone. All and all, this episode seems to be winding down.

Randy pulls on his favorite grey hoodie and a pair of clean socks and staggers down the hallway to the kitchen. The smell of fresh chicken soup makes his mouth water. His stomach grumbles and he realizes he hasn't eaten anything all day. G.G. smiles up at him from the stove.

"Sweetheart, sit down before you fall down." Randy sinks down into one of the kitchen chairs without argument. "How do you feel?"

"Much better thanks," he replies as he watches G.G. pour some soup into a bowl. "Sorry for all the trouble I caused. How did you know I was having a migraine attack?"

G.G sets the bowl in front of him and kisses him on the forehead.

"Your grandfather used to get them from time to time, so I know the symptoms. Looks like you got something else of his besides his looks, charm and talent."

"Lucky me," Randy quips.

"As for causing me trouble," G.G. says as she takes the seat across from him. "Randy, while easy is not your strength, you were the furthest thing from trouble today. You were sick. I know you're used to taking care of yourself, but you don't have to anymore."

"I know."

"Just promise you'll tell me the next time you feel one coming on," G.G. requests. "I'll give you the good drugs from the get go."

Randy laughs.

"Will do," he agrees. "Thanks for taking care of me today G.G."

G.G. smiles and pats his hand.

"Anytime."


End file.
